


When a Person Is in Fashion

by leupagus



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Tailoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leupagus/pseuds/leupagus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long day already; New York City's a nightmare of Crane asking "What's that?" or "What's this" like he's Jack Skellington in Christmastown ("Who?") and making way too friendly conversation with the cab drivers who all think he's a Method actor and keep trying to guess which play he's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When a Person Is in Fashion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firesprite1105](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesprite1105/gifts).



> This was written for the splendiferous firesprite1105, who did me a massive solid and in return asked for a Sleepy Hollow fic centered around Crane being outfitted in new (as in this century) clothes. Given that awesome prompt, I couldn't resist the opportunity to use an OC started by [twentysomething](http://archiveofourown.org/users/twentysomething/pseuds/twentysomething) in [this fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/263039) and continued on by me in [this one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/696926); he's basically my fave, and the idea of him getting to fit Crane for a suit just made me wriggle with joy.
> 
> Title comes from a quote by Lord Chesterfield: "When a person is in fashion, all they do is right."
> 
> Oh, and [this is the tie](https://www.etsy.com/listing/151954200/marvel-avengers-necktie).

*

"This is entirely unnecessary, Lieutenant," Crane says for what's about the fortieth time. 

"It's so entirely necessary, you've got no idea," Abbie replies, steering him through the doors.

It's been a long day already; New York City's a nightmare of Crane asking "What's that?" or "What's this" like he's Jack Skellington in Christmastown ("Who?") and making way too friendly conversation with the cab drivers who all think he's a Method actor and keep trying to guess which play he's doing.

But at least  _this_  part's going to be fun.

"No one in Sleepy Hollow seems to have the least objection to my raiments," Crane whines.

"That's because what they're mostly objecting to is the weird stuff that you say, not the weird stuff that you wear. If you're going to keep your ridealong, you're going to have to start looking like a professional and not like a RenFaire reject."

"I have no earthly concept of what that means."

"Which is why it's fun to insult you by saying it," Abbie replies sweetly, and dings the bell on the countertop.

Andre comes scowling out from the back of the shop, a handful of pins pinched between his lips and a tape measure around his neck. The scowl disappears when he sees her, although he takes a second to get the pins out of his mouth.

"Grace Abigail Mills, by my stars and garters," he says, and hustles around the counter to give her a massive hug. He's started dyeing his hair, but he still puts his chin on top of her head and pokes her in the side the way he's always done. "You," he says, grasping her by the shoulders and pushing her to arm's length, "Are getting way too skinny."

"And your hair dye smells terrible," she zings back; he clutches at his chest like she's stabbed him.

"Right in the ego, you're horrible. And who's this strapping young man who I can already tell isn't good enough for you?"

"Good enough for me to what?" Crane asks, because he's a dingus.

"Don't answer that," she instructs Andre. "Andre, this is Ichabod Crane, a friend of mine. Who's married. And I'm not that kind of girl so don't start with me. Crane, this is Andre Corbin, my old partner's brother."

"A pleasure," Crane says, and shakes Andre's hand even though he's still frowning a little bit.

"Adopted," Andre answers the question that he's probably been getting asked since he's been old enough to talk. "Although if it was August or me who was the little bundle left on a church doorstep, I'll let you decide."

"Like you've ever been in a church in your whole life," Abbie says, nudging him with her shoulder.

"I'm not an arsonist, Abbie, goodness me. All right, so I take it you need some new threads, young man? Where did you  _get_  these clothes? Is he into some kind of roleplay kink? Because those pants—"

"I'm gonna need you to be about 90% less you for the next hour or so," Abbie says, yanking on Andre's tape measure. "He's fragile, okay?"

"I most certainly am not fragile," Crane says, looking pretty fragile.

Andre is, of course, about 150%  _more_  him, and it takes a lot longer than an hour. Abbie sprawls out in a chair near the front reading one of the books stacked by the windowsill — it must be a new thing Andre's been doing, since she can't remember anything more than the occasional GQ magazine lying around. She's halfway through a chapter in  _A Team of Rivals_  when she hears an argument coming from the platform, and looks up.

"Goodness me," she mutters. Crane is scowling as he fusses around in an absolutely amazing charcoal grey suit, with those slightly too-skinny pants that are what's in style these days and the double vents in the back. (She's probably noticing way too much about his backside, but she can't really help it.) He looks like some kind of really mean CEO who's about to fire an entire department. It's a little depressing to realize that she's apparently really into that.

"But what is the  _purpose_  of it?" Crane demands. "Surely this infernal bit of silk needs no further ornamentation — it sports some sort of, of—"

"Brits, they've got absolutely no sense of humor," Andre sighs, and Abbie gets up to investigate. She remembers Andre's habit of putting uncooperative clients in delectable suits and shirts, and then modeling them with the fugliest ties known to humankind.

And this one's no exception. "Where the hell did you even  _get_  that?" she asks, amazed.

"I happen to be a close personal friend of Tony Stark," Andre sniffs, "And he gave me one as a Christmas present."

"Lucky you," Abbie sighs.

"Lucky Mr. Crane, at the moment," says Andre. "What do you think, hmm?"

"I think he looks like a really mean CEO."

"Like Richard Branson without the scary teeth or hair or… anything about him, exactly," Andre nods. "I'm so gifted, I swear to god."

"Why are these breeches so tight around the… posterior section?" Crane demands, twisting around trying to see his ass reflection in the mirrors. "Surely these trousers are meant for someone of rather easier virtue than myself."

"Like the first week after I met you, you took off your clothes in order to do a freaky dreamsharing ritual with me," Abbie reminds him.

"We clearly need to catch up," Andre mutters, leaning in.

"Are we finished, then?" Crane asks. "There are pins sticking into unmentionable places."

*


End file.
